


A Game of Happy Families: Round 1 ~ Severus's Story

by Leela



Series: A Game of Happy Families [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus spends another Sunday at the Burrow - some years after DH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Happy Families: Round 1 ~ Severus's Story

**Author's Note:**

> A Game of Happy Families is a series of thematically-connected stories set in the same storyverse. Each story can be read independently or in series order.
> 
> **Beta**: Shoshanna  
> **A/N**: Many thanks to Meri Oddities for answering questions and encouraging me to dive into HP fanfic. And, as always, to batdina who read and gave me comments.
> 
> PS: If you've never heard of Happy Families, it's a card game I played as a kid in England. Info at wikipedia: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_Families>

Another Sunday at the Burrow. Decent food marred by inane prattle. At least we're not completely overrun by dunderheaded teenagers this time. Most of them had the decency to go with Krum, the Weasley bint, and her swollen stomach to the Quidditch World Cup. Albus refused the invitation when he learned that Scorpius wasn't invited. And isn't that an interesting development, in the Muggle Chinese sense, of course. The pair of them are sprawled in front of the fireplace right now. Pale blond and black heads together, presumably plotting some new mayhem to inflict upon their betters.

Their fathers surround me, protecting me in my corner of this misbegotten torture device that the Weasleys Pere et Mere call a sofa. Harry is in his usual spot on the floor, with his back to the sofa and his head on my knee. Draco sprawls over the other two seats, stocking feet resting on my thigh. Possessive brats.

The other adults are mostly behaving themselves. Arthur and Molly are sitting in their armchairs, she examining her knitting and he pretending to be reading the newspaper and not snoozing. Ms Granger and her bit of rough, the dimmest Mr Weasley, are whispering their usual nothings to each other on the opposite sofa. Something must be very good to allow them to maintain a relationship between such non-equals.

I'd love to get the last two, Charles Weasley and his lovely Mischa, alone in a room. They hold such delicious secrets; they even have Arthur curious. I almost choked on my single malt when he cornered me in the garden before dinner to ask if I thought Mischa was male or female. I suspect that he or she is a little bit of both and that that's the least of their secrets. As I said to Arthur, does it really matter as long as Charles is happy?

Molly's needles just started clacking. Time for the post-prandial chatter and chunter.

"Did they do that to all of you as well?" Al is saying. "I mean, it's bonkers. We're only just starting fifth year. How're we supposed to know what we want to do for the rest of our lives?"

"Seriously." Scorpius gets in his own little twist. "He barely knows what he wants to do tomorrow. And next week is completely beyond him."

"Like you do." And they're off. Al elbows Scorpius, who punches his arm, which is a signal for tussling, which means, yes, throat-clearing interruptus from Ronald Weasley.

"Honestly, Ron. You weren't any better at his age." Ms Granger pokes her husband, which – yawn – gives her an excuse to pet the offended ribs and snuggle a little deeper under his arm. You would think they were old enough to appreciate a little delayed gratification.

Albus, who will grow up to have arthritis if he doesn't stop contorting his body into those kinds of positions, whines, "But I really want to know."

"Father said that we're lucky to be able to choose for ourselves. We should be talking about what we want." Scorpius crosses his arms over his chest and pouts dramatically at his teenage paramour – it's utterly terrifying how much he resembles Lucius Malfoy when he makes those faces.

Draco drawls, "That's not quite what I said. I told you that you should consider yourself lucky not to have a thousand years of expectations dictating your decisions."

"Okay, I'll bite." Arthur Weasley rouses himself and peers at the boys over his glasses before this can get out of hand. "What do you want to know?"

"When you were our age, what did you want to be when you grew up?" Al asks.

"Minister of Magic." Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. "I'd probably have cocked the whole thing up though."

"You couldn't have been worse than the last two berks," Molly objects, looking up from her knitting.

"What about you, Grandma?"

"A writer for Witch Weekly." Molly blushes, almost fetchingly for a witch her age. "But then I met your Granddad and found something better."

Scorpius, having finally put that lethal lip back where it belongs, squirms over and rests his head in Al's lap. They're both looking expectantly at poor Charles, who has the misfortune to be sitting on the sofa nearest Molly.

"Dragons. It was always dragons with me." Charles grins, displaying those unseemly white teeth yet again. "Good thing I found myself a healer," he adds, and then just has to stroke Mischa's dark blond crew cut. Whatever did the Weasleys do with all that touchy-feely before they found partners?

"Always I wanted to be a healer," Mischa pulls Charles's hand down and runs a finger along one of his scars. "I could never imagine anything else."

"Quidditch," contributes the Weasley with his bare smidgeon of imagination. "But I was kinda pants at that, so I settled for being an Auror."

"You weren't that bad." Ms Granger defends him instead of appreciating his honesty.

"Oh, please," Harry says, and I can almost hear his eyes rolling. "He just about wet himself before every game." Draco and I snicker, but everyone else gamely ignores the gibe.

"And then there's this one." Young Mr Weasley raises up the hand that he has intertwined with Granger's. "She dithered between so many job ops, I figured she'd just stay in school forever because it was easier than making up her mind."

Granger crosses her arms over her chest. "Just because some of us didn't have the marks."

"Some of us wanted a life, yeah?" Someone needs to teach the pillock that an indulgent smile ruins even the best comeback.

"Dad? What about you?" Albus asks.

Harry's shrug sets off a tremor in my bad leg, so I poke him with my cane. The prat misses the point completely, slumping sideways and leaving me exposed.

"I hadn't a clue," Harry eventually says. "I made something up about Auror training, because I had to tell McGonagall something." Professor McGonagall, my mind oh-so-usefully corrects him silently.

And that's when I finally catch on. All those faces are going to turn to me next, want to hear my answer. My gorge rises, burning my damn throat raw, and I plant my cane firmly enough to announce my plan to rise. Harry provides his usual wandless support, not looking around or giving any indication that it costs him the slightest effort to save my dignity. Damn him.

"Uncle Severus?" I ignore Scorpius's protest and trudge out the door as fast as my weakened left side allows. That thrice-bedamned snake. Nothing can replace the intimidation of a good exit with flaring robes and gliding step.

I stop at the edge of the garden, grasping the fence with a shaking left hand to augment my balance. I glare at a gnome that had the audacity to make a face at me, and three of the nasty beasts take off for the relative safety of the field.

"We should bottle that look and sell it as gnome repellent. Could make another fortune." Draco saunters towards me, followed by the other brat.

"Do we need another fortune?" Harry grins up at me.

"What I don't need is a keeper. Or two. Get back inside and leave me be." The croaking of my ruined voice makes me cringe, makes me want to strangle something, someone, anyone.

"No," Harry says.

"Definitely not. They're being all Weasleyish in there." Draco exaggerates his shudder for effect.

"Draco." Harry whines almost as well as his son. "Be nice."

"I am being nice. Did you see" — Draco's sweeping gesture includes me — "either of us do or say anything untoward. I even helped to set the table."

And they're hugging again. I scowl at the garden and send a couple more gnomes fleeing.

"Severus?" Harry runs a finger down my cheek. "What happened?"

I shake my head. No. No. No.

Draco insinuates himself under my right arm, taking some of my weight. He kisses the spot on my chin where Harry's finger stopped. "Stop it. You're scaring the boys."

I close my eyes, clench my right hand a little tighter around my cane, looking for my resolve, my anger. When did they learn to do this?

"Stay with us, Severus." Harry speaks quietly, urgently, forcing me to open my eyes, look at him, at Draco.

"I can't."

Harry ignores my objections – what else is new – and places one arm around me and the other around Draco. He kisses each of us, rests his head on my shoulder. To my next dying day, I'll never understand what they see in me, what they need from me, but I'm not imbecile enough to refuse them or this fragile unity we found two years, eleven months, three days, and twelve hours ago.

"So tell us, Severus. Not anyone else. Just us." Draco pries my hand from the fence and tangles our hands with one of Harry's. "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Alive." I whisper. And my tears fall into their embrace.

~fin~


End file.
